


my bad baby by my heavenly side

by Directionless_Foray



Series: bad baby [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Suburbia, a natural appreciation of nice clothes, allusions to ahem, rich people enjoying their ill-gotten riches, though more like, unsavoury career choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23572285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Directionless_Foray/pseuds/Directionless_Foray
Summary: Charles picks up Henry from his private violin lessons in the Maybach.Leon is playing with the little Christian Dior mobile dangling over his baby seat. Chubby hands reaching out to grasp at the mirrored trinkets.Collette is in the backseat crying about the school play, tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks.Charles hums sympathetically as he puts the car into park. He can drop by the school and have a word to the Drama teacher after he gets his nails done tomorrow.It's no hassle.(Rich housewife!Charles whose husband may or may not have acquired his wealth through strictly legal means.)
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Sebastian Vettel
Series: bad baby [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699429
Comments: 40
Kudos: 115





	my bad baby by my heavenly side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babypapaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babypapaya/gifts).

> i love you so much jenna. we were talking about this yesterday and i just couldn't not write it.
> 
> this is for you because you deserve it (along with a huge slice of everything)
> 
> love you (and messy rich kept-woman/man Charles)
> 
> title from 'Summertime Sadness' by Lana Del Rey because i have absolutely no imagination.

Charles picks up Henry from his private violin lessons in the Maybach.

Leon is playing with the little Christian Dior mobile dangling over his baby seat. Chubby hands reaching out to grasp at the mirrored trinkets.

Collette is in the backseat crying about the school play, tears rolling down her ruddy cheeks.

Charles hums sympathetically as he puts the car into park. He can drop by the school and have a word to the Drama teacher after he gets his nails done tomorrow.

It's no hassle.

He checks his mascara in the overhead mirror. He was distracted this morning and may have applied a few extra coats.

It's starting to get clumpy.

The three diamond encrusted Cartier love bracelets jangle melodically on his wrist.

His husband is coming home today though, Charles can be forgiven for being a little distracted.

He’d spritzed himself with extra perfume too.

(Armani's_ 'Si')_

It's a special occasion after all.

He's even wearing those vintage Chanel clip-ons that Seb likes best.

The ones he spent a whole afternoon in Paris chasing down.

(He's also wearing a new set from _Agent Provocateur_ underneath his tailored Emilia Wickstead sheath dress too.)

(A little delicate black french lace situation with small red roses dotted along the demi cups.)

Henry is fiddling with his violin case when Charles pulls up.

Charles winds down his window, "hop in angel."

Henry silently complies.

Charles frowns, his eldest is usually a bit more talkative.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he cuts to the chase.

Let it be known, Charles did not suffer fools.

Parenthood has only enhanced this quality, even if it’s also softened some of his edges in the process.

"It's- it's nothing, papa."

Charles rolls his eyes, puts the car in park, and twists around in his seat, "tell me what is going on," pale pink nails tapping on the steering wheel.

Henry squirms but ultimately relents.

"Okay, well- my math test results came back and..."

-

The sight of a fleet of Ferraris in the driveway indicates that yes-

Charles' husband is finally home from his business trip.

Seb's private security detail is stationed around their complex and Charles nods to the familiar faces as he drives through the heavy wrought-iron gates.

Seb is leaning against the front door.

"Hi, honey," he murmurs.

Charles rolls his eyes, "hello, sweetie," he replies wryly as he unbuckles little Leon from his baby seat.

Collette flings open the car door and leaps into Seb's open arms.

Seb gives Collette a big hug, swinging her around a little.

"_Father's back!_" she shrieks excitedly.

Henry waves shyly at the head of Seb's private security.

He's been with the family for years. Sometimes he accompanies them on their family holidays. 

The man waves stoically back to Henry.

Seb smiles at Charles over Collette's shoulder and Charles can't help smiling back as Leon gurgles cheerfully in his ear.

-

"How was Milan?" Charles asks after the kids are in bed for the night.

Seb kisses his cheeks.

Once on the left.

Once on the right.

And one on his forehead.

"It was good," Seb says.

It's always good.

Business is always_ good. _

Charles doesn't ask any more questions because, well-

Because _plausible deniability._

"How have the kids been?" Seb asks as he undoes his tie with one hand. The other is resting on the small of Charles' back.

"They're good," Charles leans in slightly against Seb. "Collette finished her speech for class President elections and she's been waiting for _you_ to proofread it."

He tries not to sound to hurt about it but Seb must hear it in his voice.

"It's only because you're pickier than I am, darling," he placates.

Charles ignores him.

"Henry has tryouts for the school tennis team next week and I put in a good word with the coach."

Charles also had a crate of imported caviar and truffle paste, not to mention the boxes of artisan cakes, mailed over to the coach's house but Seb doesn't need to know that.

Seb hums as he removes his watch.

A heavy Rolex that Charles bought him for their anniversary years and years ago.

Seb has better watches, more expensive ones.

Flashier ones.

But he always wears this one.

It makes something warm, and _possessive_, unfurl in his chest.

"And I spoke to our neighbours about that," he scrunches his nose, "_fence dispute_," Charles had made it clear-

That their family doesn't bend their will to anyone.

Much less a dumpy husband who made his money selling dodgy second-hand cars and a wife with more nose jobs than years spent in tertiary education.

Charles doesn't care if it's just a minor spat about fences and overhanging branches.

He cows to no one. 

"Seems I have been caught up on the goings-on in this house, then," Seb smiles amiably.

Charles leans back against the door to their bedroom.

Deliberately letting his fine silk robe fall open to expose the delicate satin slip he's wearing underneath.

It's cut so well-

Tight to his body but not too tight

Like water skimming the surface of his skin

-with splits on the side.

"Not entirely," Charles murmurs.

Seb's eyes darken.

"No," he agrees lowly, "no, it appears I haven't."

-

The next morning Charles wakes up to his husband in bed with him for the first time in a long time.

"I missed this," he mumbles.

Charles has always been of the opinion that-

That a king bed is not quite a king bed without _his_ _king _in it too.

"Me too."

Charles smiles.

He can't believe his mother ever called him foolish for marrying young.

For marrying a man with no more than three hundred dollars to his name and a handful of questionable overseas connections.

There's a framed picture from their wedding on Charles' bedside table.

Him in his delicate drop waist, vintage gown and Seb in an ill-fitting suit. The ring on his finger in the photo is so delicate, you have to squint to spot the tiny little diamond.

(Seb bought him a bigger one with his first proper paycheck.)

(_'Proper'_)

Charles likes the picture. The memory.

He always points to it to tell the kids,

_Beginnings are always important._

_Never forget where you come from_.

And then he drives to his two-hundred-dollar-a-session Pilates class and picks up a new pair of Manolo Blahniks on his way home.

And a box of artisan pastries if he feels like it.

Charles' old wedding ring is in the safe upstairs.

He only takes it out and wears it for the most important of family gatherings. 

"What's on the agenda today?" Seb rumbles.

Charles pokes absentmindedly at the slight softness to his husband's stomach.

Too many business dinners in Italy perhaps.

It's alright though, Charles thinks fondly, he is more than beautiful and thin enough for the both of them.

Their gorgeous angels too.

There is no shortage of _gorgeous_ in their household.

Charles cannot wait for Collette to start _dating_.

He thinks Seb may have an honest-to-god heart attack.

_Blood may be spilled_, he muses to himself.

"I think my neglectful husband owes me a small shopping spree," he murmurs, walking his fingers up Seb's torso.

Leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

(He's been eying a pair of those charming Prada flame heels.)

(While he's at it, Bvlgari's latest collection is out too and Charles needs some new baubles.)

(He refuses to be outshone at the parent-teacher interviewers by women on their _third_ marriages who are sleeping with postmen and pool boys.)

"Hmm," Seb shivers a little, "that sounds reasonable," he concurs.

"Though there are other things he could attend to first," Charles smirks.

"Are there now?"

"Yes," Charles hums, sliding on top of Seb, hands braced on his warm chest, "my husband has been _very neglectful_."

-

Seb treats the whole family to a late brunch before he takes them shopping.

The kids devour mini pancakes topped with clouds of mascarpone and studded with freeze-dried strawberries alongside little babycinos.

Charles feeds Seb roses of cured Atlantic salmon.

Rips up little shreds of toasted brioche bun to dip into runny egg yolks and house-made hollandaise.

And washes it all down with thirty-dollar mimosas.

-

"I cannot believe you spilled cordial on your new dress-shirt," Charles scolds as he rifles through Henry's closet for a suitable replacement.

"I'm sorry, papa," Henry apologises, he sounds appropriately remorseful so Charles tries not to be too harsh.

It's a close thing though.

Charles has coordinated all their outfits so they would _match._

He even managed to convince Seb to wear the _Hermes _cufflinks that he never wears outside of 'business meetings.'

Does no one see all the _effort _Charles puts in?

"This is our first dinner out after your father got back," Charles can't help bemoaning, he grabs a pale blue shirt which will have to suffice on short notice.

He makes a mental note to stop by Dior to pick up some more shirts for Henry.

He’s growing _so fast._

(He also has a school dance this year and Charles and Seb have been talking about taking Henry for his first proper suit fitting for a while now.)

(Now that Seb is back, it's the perfect excuse to bite the bullet.)

(Seb has an affinity for Hugo Boss but Charles much prefers Tom Ford.)

(They may have to _compromise._)

(Zegna it is.)

"I know," Henry hangs his head, "I really am sorry, papa, it was an accident."

Seb is somewhere downstairs trying to tie the ribbons into little bows in Collette's hair.

Charles can always redo it if Seb can't do it properly.

God forbid he has to do _everything _in this fucking house_._

"Here," he thrusts the fresh shirt at Henry, "be quick, I'll get everyone else in the car," he presses a kiss to Henry's forehead as an afterthought, "I know you didn't mean to, I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's okay, papa," Henry grins crookedly, "I know that father makes you kind of nervous."

  
(Well that’s one way to put it.)

Charles snorts and tweaks him gently on the nose just for his sheer cheek.

Charles makes his way downstairs.

Teetering slightly in his towering stilettos and taking care not to step on the inky black satin of his gown. 

Someone wolf-whistles and Charles rolls his eyes. 

(He blushes a little but only a little.)

(Sue him.)

(He puts in _effort_.)

(It deserves to be appreciated.)

(And Seb has always been more than happy to _appreciate._)

"Isn't papa, beautiful?" Seb asks Leon, bouncing him a little.

Charles tries not to preen.

(He glances at his reflection in the giant mirror in the hallway.)

(He looks _good._)

(Absolutely _sublime._)

"Your father is a _charmer_, Leon," he corrects as he lifts him out of Seb's arms.

"You look very pretty, papa," Leon asserts.

Seb chuckles.

"Traitors, the lot of you," Charles ignores his blush as he surveys Collete's hair.

Seb did a pretty good job with the ribbons, a little lopsided but it's okay.

Charles nods in approval.

"Let's hop in the car, Henry will join us once he’s done, I don't want to be late for our reservation," Charles nibbles on his lip.

Not that any restaurant would turn their family away.

The mere thought seems to amuse Seb, the corner of his lips curving upwards. 

They know better.

Seb rests his large, warm hand on Charles’ lower back just like he always does.

And Charles' Helmut Lang gown is _backless_.

He tries not to shiver too visibly.

(Maybe it wasn't wise to forgo underwear completely.)

(Too late now.)

And it's hard not having a husband there all the time.

Sure-

Charles likes wearing embroidered silk slips, delicate sling-back heels, and expensive French lingerie.

Likes applying his lipstick in his car in full view of all the other neighbourhood parents.

Likes sunbathing in their backyard.

But he's not a _whore_.

(Not like some of the other tacky women who do the school drop-off in imported cars.)

(Charles got married in a _church_.)

Charles doesn't _cheat._

Plus, Charles is perfectly happy with his husband.

(Satisfied.)

(Very _satisfied_.)

Seeming to read his mind, Seb tugs Charles into his front and presses a kiss into Charles' hair.

One of his large hands grips Charles' upper thigh.

Possessive.

Charles melts and his mouth waters a little.

It really is hard not having a husband there all the time.

(But oh.)

(How nice it is...)

(_Making up for lost time.)_

-

The private room tucked away from the main restaurant is nice.

Ambient lighting and a big long dining table.

The water fixture that comprises of the entire far wall is a nice touch.

"How's the wine?" Charles enquires innocently.

"It's good," Seb smiles mildly.

He's carefully cutting up his three hundred dollar steak into bite-sized pieces for Collette. Dipping each morsel into a little bit of gravy before he offers it to her. 

Charles is so turned on.

It probably speaks volumes that he's so _ready to go _just watching Seb be a parent to their children.

(Just being in the _same room _as his husband for the first time in weeks, if he’s being perfectly honest.)

"Just good?" Charles teases, "this is an '08 _Pommard Rugien, husband dearest.”_

"Oh I know, sweetheart," Seb grins a little furtively, "I saw the price."

Charles bites back his own grin, "didn't anyone ever tell you? It's gauche to enquire about prices."

"My apologies, darling," Seb is smiling, a joking glint in his eyes, "how uncultured of me."

Charles rolls his eyes.

Seb settles a hand on his upper thigh. Charles goes a little lightheaded.

Whoever said that marriage kills passion was clearly married to the wrong person.

"Papa," Collette taps Charles imperiously on the shoulder.

Charles is momentarily ripped out of his reverie.

"When are we having dessert?" she asks, "I want the chocolate soufflé."

"I want crème caramel," Henry adds pointedly.

Even Leon is watching them. 

He has some gravy smeared on the side of his mouth and Seb uses a hand, the one not gripping Charles' thigh, to wipe it away with a napkin.

"I see," Seb's eyes twinkle, "darling I think we should call the waiter back in or risk a violent riot."

"Mm, yes, you might be right,” Charles agrees a little breathlessly.

He leans across the table to grab the attention of the waiter waiting by the doorway.

-

"You get the kids settled in the car," Charles instructs, "I just need to touch up my make-up," he informs Seb.

"Of course," Seb presses a kiss to Charles' cheeks.

One on the left.

One on the right.

And one on Charles' forehead.

"Don't take too long," he murmurs.

"Perfection _takes time_," Charles replies a little breathily. 

"Oh, I am very familiar with your," a smirk, "_perfection_, _Charles._"

Charles blinks a few times and pushes Seb towards the door, "_go_, Seb, the kids," he huffs, unable to hide his affection

Seb is chuckling merrily to himself but he trails dutifully after their kids.

Charles snorts a little and gathers his coat and purse. Shoving an arm through his cashmere Max Mara coat. 

"May I help you," one of the waiters who was assigned to their room asks.

"No, it's alright," Charles smiles politely, opening the latch of his clutch to make sure his lipstick was inside, "I'm just going to-"

He finds himself suddenly pushed up against the wall.

Charles’ clutch clatters onto the ground. Lipstick tube rolling under the table.

"_What the fuck-_"

The man's slimy hands are crawling up Charles' legs.

His hands are _sweaty. _

He smells like the _kitchen._

(Seb smells like _Armani code.)_

(And_ Charles.)_

"I-I heard your marriage was on the rocks- that you were looking for-"

Charles slaps him.

"Take your fucking hands off of me," Charles' tone is icy.

"It's okay, I won't tell your little bitch of a husb-"

"My husband is ten-times the man you will ever be," Charles hisses, "which is already an insult to his name and a charitable inflation of yours-"

"What exactly is happening here?" Seb's voice is deceptively calm even as it cuts through the room like a knife. 

The waiter springs off of Charles and Charles' narrows his eyes at him.

_(The rat._)

"I'm so sorry, I must have misinterpreted-"

"That's enough," Seb's voice is low.

He's still smiling.

Mild and genial.

Charles knows better though.

His husband has built them a castle, surrounded it with impenetrable walls, and filled every surface with shiny things and stuffed the closets full of designer garments.

You don't get to do that without knowing how to be a killer and maintain a harmless smile at the same time.

(How to get away with murder in daylight.)

Charles presses his lips together and wraps his coat around himself tighter.

Seb's eyes drift over to him, brushing over Charles.

_Are you okay?_ his eyes seem to ask.

Charles nods slightly, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Right now, he just wants to get back to his children.

To his golden castle, his rightful king, and his darling angels.

"I'm sorry, I'll let you get back on your way," the waiter laughs nervously, running a hand through his greasy slicked-back hair.

Charles feels some frustrated tears tickling the back of his eyelids.

He can't cry though.

He's not wearing waterproof mascara.

And Charles didn't cry when the Carabinieri threatened to hold Seb indefinitely in Naples.

He's certainly not going to shed tears over a low-level cockroach with an inflated sense of self-worth and entitlement.

Seb is still watching him though and Charles has never felt safer than when he's locked in Seb's dangerous gaze.

"You've made my husband drop his bag," Seb notes casually, leaning a hand on the edge of the dining table.

Charles can see the waiter swallow.

"Pick it up for him," Seb orders calmly.

There's a pause.

Charles nibbles on his lip.

Another pregnant pause.

Then the waiter darts forward to retrieve it. He's shaking.

Charles watches warily.

Seb is watching on coldly.

"_And his lipstick too_," Seb adds coolly.

The man crawls under the table to retrieve the little glossy tube.

He scrambles up to offer them to Charles.

"Thank you," Charles murmurs.

"Alright then," Seb finally smiles.

A smile full of teeth that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Shall we darling?" he offers Charles his left arm, which Charles immediately latches onto, "I believe our angels are waiting for us."

"Thank you, my love," Charles replies numbly.

They make their way out of the restaurant at a slow, leisurely stroll.

Charles clings on to Seb's arm like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

At one point the manager tries to catch up to them to apologise, "I'm so sorry, Misters Leclerc-Vettel, rest assured that the personnel in question will be dealt with-"

Seb just waves a dismissive hand and keeps guiding Charles towards the main entrance.

Once they've made it out of the restaurant he leans over as little to murmur, "are you okay?"

"Yes," Charles smiles weakly, "I am."

Concern lingers in Seb's eyes but he doesn't press Charles, instead pressing a kiss to his forehead, "don't worry, my love, I'll deal with this."

Charles doesn't ask for details.

(_Plausible deniability_.)

"Why don't you go check on the kids, I just need to make a quick call."

Charles nods.

Seb kisses him on his cheeks. 

One on the left.

One on the right.

And another on Charles' forehead.

Afterwards, Charles takes the final few steps towards their car with its tinted windows.

They took the Bentley tonight.

He nods to their driver who opens the door for Charles.

Smiles thinly at the security detail stationed around the vehicle.

Charles releases a breath he didn't know he was holding when he sees the kids sitting quietly in the backseat.

Leon is sleeping, head pillowed on Henry's shoulder while he plays on his iPhone.

Collette is practicing her class president speech through the window to one of the security. 

Charles gathers them all in his arms despite their protests.

He can just make out Seb's voice as he makes his phone call in the background.

-

When Charles wakes up there are twelve vases of dusty pink garden roses, Charles' _favourite_, dispersed around the room.

Shiny, peach satin ribbons are tied around the base of the vases.

They must have cost a fortune to have delivered on such short notice.

He smiles a little.

_Bless_.

His husband is a_ romantic_.

Charles can hear the sound of Seb making pancakes for the kids downstairs.

The excited cheers and then Seb's hushed, "_shhh, papa is still sleeping._"

Charles leans back in the cushions and sheets and luxuriates in the silence.

The quadruple-digit thread count sheets.

The scent of criminally expensive, express-delivered out-of-season-roses.

And the sound of his family in the kitchen downstairs.

Charles wraps his silk kimono around himself, ties the silky ribbon loosely around his waist, and floats down the stairs, hands holding onto the banister.

The sound of the news filters through the house from the television in the living room.

Apparently an unnamed man's body was found in the river.

Hands cut off.

Charles just heads to the kitchen, toying absentmindedly with the ends of the ties to his kimono.

He _loves_ a pancake breakfast.

And there are those organic hand-picked raspberries in the fridge. Some Belgian chocolate chips in the pantry. Imported maple syrup. 

They always go fantastically with pancakes. 

The sound of the television grows fainter and fainter the closer he gets to the kitchen.

Leon's giggles as Seb stirs the pancake batter drowns it out.

Charles hopes he doesn't get too much of the batter on their marble countertops.

Seb has never bothered himself much with matters of clean-up.

Ah well.

Charles can pitch in from time to time.

That's marriage.

_Teamwork. _

And while there's nothing Charles loves more than the feeling of silk on his bare skin-

The only thing that feels better on Charles will always be _power._

(And Seb is the only man who has ever been able to offer Charles both.)

Charles focuses on the sound of his perfect _family _instead of the news presenter's voice.

_(Plausible deniability.)_

**Author's Note:**

> how messy but oddly sweet?
> 
> I hope you liked this!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [hands that sing, hum, and sting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604781) by [singlemalter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter)


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